


The Eyes Are Blind

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-05
Updated: 2011-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is sure there’s something wrong with Sam, declaring his youngest son the target and leaving Dean to choose between his dad and brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eyes Are Blind

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Pre-series. The boys are 18 and 22. Written for the Sam-focused hurt/comfort fic challenge at ohsam. Prompt: _John suffers from Capgras Delusions, where he thinks that Sam has been replaced by an identical-looking impostor._

Sam was blind, deaf and stupid. At least his dad had always thought so and now his big brother did too. Both Dean and Dad were on razor edge. Despite what they thought, Sam saw their wary glances, heard their whispered words and knew something was seriously wrong.

Beneath the cover of his bangs, Sam raised his brow and defiantly took a seat at the kitchen table in a silent declaration that he wouldn’t budge an inch until Dean told him the truth. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms firmly over his chest.

Dean’s hands twitched nervously, brushing through his slightly longer than usual hair then rubbing at the nape of his neck. He fastened and unfastened the top couple buttons of his flannel shirt like he couldn’t decide whether he was hot or cold.

The kitchen’s window was broken. Shattered glass still littered the patchy lawn outside. If any of them cared, they could scrounge through the overgrown rose bushes to find the pistol clip Sam had heaved through the glass a couple nights before.

~~~

It couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds, but it felt like an eternity of being dragged over broken glass. Sam’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw it. All the unfiltered hate and rage he had always imagined in Dad’s eyes was there, drilling into him, promising to tear him apart.

“You’re not my son.”

The words shouldn’t have even fazed him. Sam had long suspected that Dad held that sentiment, but somehow hearing it aloud still gutted Sam to the core. All he could do was stand his ground and hope Dad hadn’t seen him flinch.

Sam sucked it up and squared his shoulders. “Thank God for that.”

Even Sam could hardly believe that he’d managed to push the words past his lips. The menace that twisted Dad’s features instilled far more terror in him than any werewolf or poltergeist ever could.

“You got ten seconds to tell me why you’re here.”

Sam shook with a subtle tremor, from anger as much as fear. Dad was right about one thing – there was no reason for him to still be here.

It had been too long of keeping quiet, too long of putting up with this crap and for that, part of him wanted the excuse of Dad escalating to violence. At least then he could once and for all prove the truth to his big brother.

They weren’t anything but foot soldiers in Dad’s pointless war and it didn’t matter what they did. It would never be enough. For once, Sam had been doing what he was told. He’d been sitting at the kitchen table, silently cleaning the guns and Dad had still come barreling in to bust his balls.

“You wanna kill yourself hunting this stupid demon alone?” Sam shouted. “See if I care!”

He thrust aside the pistol clip he’d been clutching in his hand with far more force than intended. Instead of skidding over the counter it sailed straight through the window over the sink. The shattering rang through the kitchen with all the reverberation of an atomic blast.

The anticipated blow didn’t come, though not because Dad wasn’t insane enough with rage to erupt like Mount Vesuvius. It was the rushed patter of bare feet that fractured Sam and Dad’s death glare. They both looked up to see Dean standing in the doorway wearing his boxers and gripping the dagger he pretended not sleep with.

His rumpled hair was plastered flat on one side of his head and he must have grabbed for clothes in the dark because the oversized, wrinkled white t-shirt was from Sam’s dirty laundry bag. The shirt was tangled and hadn’t been pulled down far enough to cover the tensed muscles of his midsection.

Dean’s eyes were heavy with sleep and he should have looked ridiculous standing there, barely awake and only half dressed, but the sight of his brother let Sam finally draw in a full breath of air. It let him feel safe even under Dad’s promise of instant death.

Dad didn’t seem to notice Dean, and Sam wasn’t sure what happened next because it couldn’t have been what it seemed. A rough hand clutched his throat with a crushing pressure. Dad’s hand was choking him. Sam panicked, thrashing against the grip.

He could barely make out the tornado of motion as Dean surged forward and wrestled his way between their swinging tangle of arms. A hard shove to the chest knocked Sam back against the kitchen sink. Pain shot through his hip where it caught the counter’s edge.

When he looked up, Dad was seething on the other side of the small kitchen gesturing wildly towards him. Sam was lost somewhere between livid and terrified, unable to even process the heated words being exchanged between his brother and father.

The hurt anger fueling Sam evaporated when he saw the spots of deep scarlet blooming over the stark whiteness of Dean’s shirt. Dean blinked back the moisture that swelled in his eyes as the blood dripped from his nose, but his sole focus seemed to be on making sure that neither Sam nor Dad made another move.

Even as Sam rubbed at the soreness in his hip, the sharp stab of guilt hurt far more. Sam didn’t even know which one of them had hit Dean, though he was sure Dad had just told Dean it was him.

“Dean...”

Dean’s eyes remained fixed on Dad. “Sam, get out.”

Any other time, he would’ve told his brother to go to hell. Dean liked to boss him around nearly as much as Dad did, but tonight there was concern interlaced with the order. When Dean turned his head to him, Sam looked up from the blood that ran over Dean’s upper lip to see the silent plea in his brother’s eyes.

Sam didn’t want to leave Dean alone to clean up his mess. He wanted to pretend that he didn’t need his big brother to fix this, but he was too shell-shocked to say anything.

Dean patted his shoulder. Sam jumped at the unexpected contact, but was grateful for it. He couldn’t even look at Dad as he gingerly pressed a hand to his aching throat and followed Dean’s gentle push out of the kitchen.

~~~

No one had patched the window because then they’d have to admit that night had happened. Sam’s hip still ached where it had impacted the sink hard enough to leave the skin tinted an ugly shade of fading purple.

An early spring breeze intermittently rushed through the hole in the window, carrying bursts of sweetness. The air was cool, but the sun’s rays beat in warmth and highlighted the sheen of sweat that settled over the creased skin of Dean’s forehead.

The rustling of the newly leafed out trees, was punctuated by the scuffing of Dean’s boots over the cracked vinyl flooring that his eyes remained fixed on. This place was quiet and weirdly out of the way, even for them. It meant that despite what Dad thought, Sam did hear the whispers that kicked in every time he left the room.

The hushed arguments between his dad and brother had last night ended with the door slamming hard enough to shake the thin windows of the rundown cabin they were squatting in. A few minutes later, Dean had come slinking into the bedroom with whiskey and mumbled excuses on his breath, reminding Sam far too much of Dad.

He’d never seen Dean like this with Dad and Sam knew it was because of him. He was why Dad was pissed all the time and why his brother had darkened circles beneath his exhausted eyes. He shouldn’t have let Dean talk him into staying.

These days, Sam and Dad stood toe to toe screaming their throats bloody more often than not. It was pretty much impossible to pinpoint when it had switched from pissing matches to actual disdain. Dad no longer told him he was a deluded, self absorbed moron for wanting to get an actual education. Instead, he just shot him looks like he thought Sam had set fire to a school bus full of kindergartners.

“Go to a movie?” Sam slowly repeated Dean’s suggestion, giving his brother one last chance to try for something closer to the truth. Instead of recanting, Dean restarted his pacing. “When have I ever just gone to a movie?”

“See, that’s what I mean.” Dean’s head popped up, but his eyes still avoided Sam’s. “You should...you know....” When Sam just shook his head, Dean gave a frustrated huff. “You should do normal teenage things.”

“Like go to college?”

“No. Damn it, Sammy!” Dean brought his fist down on the table hard enough to test the structural integrity of the scarred wood. Sam jumped in his chair, but pretended he hadn’t. “I’m gonna ship both you dicks off to military school if you don’t cut this crap out.”

The frustration in Dean’s voice bled into every part of him. It showed in his bloodshot eyes that all but begged Sam to listen and in the rigid tightness of his shoulders. Sam didn’t want to be the Dean's burden.

“Okay.”

Sam’s reply obviously shocked his brother who straightened his stance and took a curious step back. “Yeah?” Dean seemed pleased with himself as he dug into his pocket. “Cool. Here you go.”

It was Sam’s turn to look taken aback as he stared at the car keys that clunked onto the table along with a rumpled wad of cash. “You want me to take the Impala to a movie?”

The silent answer in Dean’s eyes screamed ‘no’, but Dean gave a hesitant nod. “You damn well better be careful with her. One scratch and Dad will have my ass.”

Sam rolled his eyes, less at the tired threat and more at Dad’s typical crap. A year ago Dad had ‘given’ Dean the car while leaving the threat hanging that, if anything happened to it, Dad reserved the right to take it away. When Dean had wanted to drive a couple states over to take Sam to a concert, Dad had said the car was for hunts, not joyrides.

It was only further proof that if he stayed around here, four years from now, Sam would have nothing to look forward to but more of the same. His brother was twenty-two years old and still wouldn’t take a breath unless Dad said so. Sam couldn’t be that kind of son. He wouldn’t. There was no reason Dean should have to either.

Sam pushed the keys back across the table towards his brother. “Come with me.”

It wasn’t just the movie he was referring to. He was sure Dean was being too dense to get that and knew better than to press his luck by clarifying. Dean was the only reason he hadn’t taken off the day he had graduated from high school, or earlier for that matter.

“You know I can’t.” The sigh that left Dean was far too weary. “I gotta be here when Dad gets back.”

“No, you don’t.” When Dean looked confused, Sam bit back a growl. He shoved out of his chair and walked around the small table to block Dean’s pacing. “You’re not his slave, Dean.”

When Dean finally looked up to meet Sam’s eyes it was with a guarded caution that looked strange on his face. His voice was gravely when he spoke. “No, I’m his son. He needs us.”

“He needs to learn how to tie his own shoes.”

Sam didn’t even see Dean’s hand shoot up until his brother’s fist clenched the loose fabric at the front of his shirt, jerking him closer. “You need to shut your pie-hole before I shut it for you.”

The tone was dangerous while Dean’s eyes remained uncertain. Dean stared silently at Sam before opening his mouth to speak. His jaw twitched before closing again. He bit at his lower lip then slowly uncurled his fingers and again pressed flat the wrinkles from Sam’s shirt.

“Look,” Dean finally said, “Dad’s already pissed as hell and you’re both starting to piss me off. He yells, you just yell louder and I’m the one that’s gonna need the damn hearing aids.”

“Just tell me what he said.”

Dean blinked in confusion. “What?”

“What have you and Dad been arguing about?”

Dean shifted his weight and scrubbed a hand over his face before turning away.

“I know you two are hunting something,” Sam said before his brother could walk away and declare a silent end to the conversation.

“There’s no hunt.” The words came too quickly to be convincing. “Dad’s just...can’t you just give him a break? You heard the doctors. That hit he took to the head last week...Sammy, it could’ve killed him.”

“It’s no excuse for him to kill us.”

“It sure as hell would help if you weren’t begging him to do it. What we all need is a trip to Vegas. We can go try out that new fake ID of yours and just maybe find someone desperate enough for money to take your virginity.”

“Dean.” His brother tensed at the simple sound of his own name. “I know this is about me.”

“I hate to be the bearer or reality and all, Sammy, but not everything’s about you.”

“Yeah, I noticed. It’s all about Dad.” Sam just raised his brow at the warning glare Dean threw over his shoulder. “Seriously, Dean, which one of us are you trying to protect?”

The kitchen again fell into silence that, in between breezes, was only broken by the occasional plunk of rogue water drops from the faucet.

“I can’t lose either of you.” There was a heavy weight behind the quiet words. “I gotta be sure.”

“Sure of what, Dean?”

The closer Sam looked at Dean, the more edgy he realized his brother was. Dean was back to anxiously flexing his hand, his tongue running worriedly over his lips.

“Nothing. I just need you to lay low for a few days while I take care of this. None of your college crap or any other...”

“You get that I’m going, right? Nothing you or Dad says can keep me here.”

Sam hadn’t been fully prepared for the pain that surfaced in Dean’s eyes, like he’d just been kicked in the gut. The expression of hurt was quickly traded for one of forced annoyance.

“You’re an ungrateful son of a bitch, you know that? You think you’re doing us some kind of favor by being here? All you do is mope around crying about your unfair life. Dude, life sucks ass and then you die. Get over it already!”

“Like you have?” Sam shot back. “Mom died, so you should have to waste the rest of your life bending over backwards for Dad?”

Dean curled his fist in plain sight, giving Sam a clear warning. “I will beat your sorry ass bloody if you don’t shut it.”

Sam stepped forward and stood over Dean. He could do that now, stare down at his big brother. It pissed Dean off and made Sam want to gloat, but he didn’t because he was pushing it far enough. If he was anyone else, Dean would have already killed him.

His brother searched for words to fill the silence. “Just ‘cause I got my priorities straight...”

“You dropped out of high school because Dad bitched you out about it being inconvenient for one stupid hunt.”

“Man, you don’t know crap about why he tore me a new one.” Dean’s laugh was dry and humorless. “And since when are you the patron saint of school boards anyway?”

“Since I decided to live my own life.”

“Oh give me a break. You wouldn’t last two days without us.”

With one sharp motion, Sam slammed Dean back into the wall. Sam heard the whoosh of air being knocked from Dean’s lungs right before his brother’s head hit against the peeling strips of faded, floral wallpaper.

Both of Dean’s fists curled at his side as he winced, and Sam could feel the coiled muscles trembling for action beneath his palms. When he looked down to glare into Dean’s eyes he’d expected to see a glower, but what he saw just made him feel like crap. His brother looked desperate.

“Sammy?”

“Hey, it’s okay...sorry, man.” Sam’s brow knitted at Dean’s uncertainty. “What’re you afraid of?”

Dean only tightened his jaw, eyes still locked with Sam’s as if searching for something.

“Dean, what did Dad tell you?”

A queasy feeling settled over Sam’s gut. Dean had inched far enough away from the wall to be able to slide his hand beneath his shirt at the small of his back. He hadn’t drawn it, but Sam was sure Dean had wrapped his fingers around his gun. They stood in frozen silence until Dean finally dropped his hand settling into the glower Sam had expected from the start.

“I ain’t scared of nothing, bitch.”

Nearly as soon as the words had been spat, Dean’s eyes went wide. Sam looked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Dad outside the kitchen window. The door burst open a second later and Dad plowed in like an avalanche.

“Get away from my son!”

Sam startled back at the roared order, instantly dropping his hands from Dean’s chest. Dean shoved past Sam to automatically throw himself between Sam and Dad. He held his arms out to his side, spread wide as if to make himself look bigger than he really was.

From over Dean’s shoulder, Sam saw the cocked gun clutched in Dad’s hand. He saw the anger in Dad’s eyes mingled with a hint of that same fear he’d seen in Dean. No part of him could understand how Dad and Dean could be scared of him.

Dad raised the gun and pinned Dean with a look so fierce it sent a shiver down Sam’s spine. “Get out of the way!”

Despite Dad’s order, which usually would’ve had Dean scrambling to comply, Dean only widened his stance. Sam watched in shock as his brother’s fingers again slowly moved towards his own gun.

“Dad, it’s just Sam.”

There was no missing the odd way Dean enunciated his name or the disbelief on Dad’s face.

“That thing isn’t your brother. Move. Now, Dean!”

“No, sir.” The words were spoken as if they were physically painful for Dean to tear from his throat.

“I’m not telling you again.”

“I know.” Dean’s uncertain eyes shot over his shoulder and scanned over Sam. A moment later, he looked back to Dad. “You wanna shoot Sam? Do it. But the bullet’s going through me first.”

Sam’s breath hung frozen in his lungs, his heart still in his chest as he stared dumbfounded at the silent conversation between his dad and brother. Finally, Dean strode forward despite the gun leveled at his chest.

He couldn’t see Dean’s face, but could hear the struggle for control in his voice. “We need to talk.” Dean’s hand reached up to direct the gun’s barrel towards the ground. “Dad...please.”

“Stop wasting time, Dean. You’ve screwed this up enough already.” A fresh wave of anger washed over Sam as he saw his brother recoil from the biting words. “That thing is not walking out of here wearing my son’s face!”

Confusion dulled his anger as Sam saw Dad jab a finger in his direction. “Dad, what are you talking about?”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean snapped. Quickly Dean turned his attention back to Dad. “Let’s just tie him up and we’ll figure this out, okay?”

“What?” Sam gawked at Dean in disbelief. “Nobody’s tying me up.”

“Sam, seriously – shut it.”

Sam clenched his jaw and fell silent only because he was too stunned to string together words. Dean disappeared for a moment only to return from their supply stash with a bundle of rope looped over his arm. He was serious.

Dad hadn’t answered Dean either way and Dean seemed to be rushing to do whatever he thought he was going to do before Dad could order him to stop. Looking warily between them both, Sam took a step back.

Dean just moved in to close the gap while he found the starting end of the twine in his unsteady hands. When his head raised his earnest eyes finally met Sam’s.

“Trust me?” Dean whispered quietly enough only for Sam’s ears.

Hesitantly Sam nodded, but there was nothing other than certainty in his answer. “Always, Dean.”

Dean motioned Sam to the closest chair after shooting a nervous glance towards Dad, who stood by like an overseeing prison warden. Sam swallowed down his panic and stiffly sat, forcing himself to remain still as Dean looped the rope around him. His brow furrowed when he realized that Dean’s circulation restricting binds weren’t only for show.

It wasn’t until Dean had finished, that Sam realized why. Of course Dad wouldn’t trust Dean to do it right. As soon as Dean had secured the last knot and taken a step back, Dad was there checking Dean’s work while purposefully avoiding looking at Sam.

“Fine,” Dad told Dean. “Outside.”

From where he sat, Sam could see out the broken window. Dean and Dad silently marched away from the cabin. They reached the Impala before Dad turned and started to tear into Dean. Their voices were too low to hear, but both spoke with all the fervor as if they were screaming. Dad’s face was red, his nostrils flaring while Dean’s features twisted in frustration.

Dad did his best to loom over Dean. They were nearly the same height now, but Dean still didn’t have Dad’s bulk. It was normal for Dad to push his size around to intimidate them into following orders. He’d never hurt them until now, although it seemed to Sam that Dad had always liked to remind them that he could.

Despite Dad’s posturing, which usually sent Dean sulking off, Dean didn’t back down. Sam’s jaw practically fell open at the sight he’d never thought he would see.

Dean shoved Dad.

It wasn’t to push past him or like when he hauled Dad aside to separate him and Sam. Dean rushed him hard enough that Dad stumbled backwards. Even Sam had never had the guts to try that one.

Dean’s uncertainty was clear as he held back, waiting for Dad to make the next move. Although he couldn’t physically see Dad’s face as he stormed back towards Dean, Sam could see it in his memory. He knew it had to be one of pure rage that Dad usually only reserved for him.

The more Dad squared his shoulders, the more Dean slumped his. Sam twisted furiously against the tightly knotted binds as he watched his big brother shrink back and try to make a retreat only to be blocked by the Impala.

Dad grabbed Dean’s arm tight enough that Sam saw his brother grimace from across the lawn. The thud could be heard from where Sam sat, when Dad shoved Dean back against the car. Sam caught only clipped words of the rant that Dad shouted at Dean’s ear, his stomach churning with fear and fury as he watched Dean just bow his head to try to shut it out.

This was about him. Even whatever Dad was saying now wasn’t about what Dean had just done. Dad was still motioning back towards where Sam was bound. Right now, Sam didn’t care what Dad wanted to do to him, he just wanted his brother left out of it.

He squeezed his eyes closed, willing himself to wake up. When he again looked out the window, Dean’s hand was extended towards Dad. The dappled sun caught the glare of a knife’s blade being exchanged between them. A mix of terror and relief washed over Sam as Dad released Dean and turned to stalk back towards the cabin.

His brother stood in the driveway, eyes fixed on the dagger gripped in his hand. The lines of his face set in a grim line before he followed along, keeping pace a few steps behind Dad. Sam’s eyes shifted anxiously as the kitchen door flung open.

Dad stood back with the gun again in his hand as he watched Dean critically. Sam barely looked at him, his attention instead drawn by his brother walking straight towards him with the dagger held at the ready.

“I’m sorry, Sammy.”

“’Sorry’? Dean...Dean, what’re you doing?!”

Sam tried desperately to jerk away as his brother rolled up the sleeve of his flannel. The knife hovered just above his exposed forearm. Dean closed his eyes and took in a tentative breath, before focusing again to slice the blade across Sam’s arm. A hiss gritted through Sam’s teeth, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.

For a moment, Dean remained crouched beside him and stared at the trail of seeping blood staining his jeans. He seemed to be waiting for something and when whatever it was didn’t come, Dean let out a muffled sigh of relief.

His hand patted Sam’s knee as he nodded to himself and then stood. “See?” Dean asked Dad. “It’s not burning him.”

“Then you’re not doing it right,” Dad replied.

“I’m not cutting his arm right? I know I screw everything up, but seriously?” Dean grabbed a towel off the counter and wrapped it around Sam’s forearm, the rough fabric burning against the shallow gash. “It’s not exactly rocket science. I cut him. He’s bleeding - not burning.”

“Then the knife isn’t really silver. Give it to me.”

“No.” Dean moved the knife out of reach behind his back. “He’s human - he’s your son.”

“Is that what you guys think?” Sam asked. “That I’m not me?”

“Long story, but now we know you’re you.”

Dean’s words were still heavy with unease and weren’t directed towards him. When Sam risked a look towards Dad, the expression he saw on the stony face deepened the cold pit in his stomach.

“No, he’s not. He’s attacked you twice already,” Dad said. “I’m not risking losing you both. Give me the damn knife, Dean.”

“No, sir.”

In the tensed quiet of the kitchen, the floor creaked as Dean sidestepped to stand behind Sam’s chair. There his hands were hidden from Dad’s view. After a slight jostling, Sam could feel Dean using the dagger’s edge to cut through the rope. He tried not to react when Dean’s rushed movements nicked his skin.

“One of you sons of bitches decked me and Sam pushed me – that’s it,” Dean said. Sam prayed that he was the only one who noticed that the half focused words were an obvious attempt to keep Dad distracted. “It’s just the same old crap and not half of what I’m gonna do to the both of you once this is over.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dad stomped closer as he growled the words. “Your brother is somewhere dead or dying and you think this is funny?”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?” The binds holding Sam began to slacken, but Dean’s hand on his shoulder kept him still. “Dad, you’re scaring the crap out of me.”

“You should be scared. Your brother, he would never walk away from the hunt. That’s not him.”

The hand resting on Sam’s shoulder tightened. Sam finally got why Dean had been so insistent on him not talking about leaving for college. Apparently it was easier for Dad to think he was a monster than it was for him to consider that Sam just didn’t want to waste his life shooting ghosts in the shadows.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean lower his head. “You don’t even know the kid,” Dean mumbled.

“What did you say?” By Dad’s tone, he’d obviously heard every word.

Sam held his breath as Dad moved in so close that he was practically leaning over Sam to glare at Dean. His brother pulled back. He felt a jolt of panic at the loss of contact but quickly realized that Dean was trying to draw Dad away.

Dean scrunched his face and his free hand came up to rub the back of his head before dropping back to his side. “This is crazy.” There was no question that Dad didn’t like Dean’s new statement anymore than the last. At least he took the bait and followed Dean to the other side of the kitchen. “Why the hell would someone replace Sam just to hit the road?”

“So we’d never come looking for your real brother. We’ve been over this already. Since when do you have such a hard damn time following orders, Dean?”

“Since they stopped making sense.” The turmoil was glaringly clear in Dean’s eyes as they darted between Sam and Dad. “I’m sorry, but you’re wrong, Dad.”

“I taught you better than this. How can you not see a monster right in front of your face?”

“You’re the only that’s attacked anybody. You’re just not thinking straight. Come on.” Dean’s hand reached out for Dad’s arm. “Just let me take you back to the hospital.”

“I’m ending this.”

Dad smacked Dean’s hand away and raised his gun. When the pistol again leveled at Sam, Dean surged forward, tackling Dad while Sam fought to slip free from the last of the ropes.

His stomach plummeted as he looked up in time to see Dad double back on Dean, striking with a power that should have been reserved for a hunt. Dean fell back, banging against the counter and falling still to the floor.

Sam moved in before Dad could recover his gun and winced as he drew back his elbow to drive it into Dad’s head. Dad’s eyes rolled back and his body collapsed, nearly falling on top of Dean’s.

His clamped lungs struggled to draw in even a trace of air while Sam stood over his fallen brother and dad. He crouched down over Dean, his brother’s head lolling limply to the side as Sam rolled him over. By the time he dug into Dean’s pocket, his hand was nearly too numb to even grasp the cell phone. He was just thankful that Dean had Bobby’s phone number at the top of his speed dial.

He collapsed the rest of the way to the floor. His eyes were blurry as he sat between Dean and Dad, one hand resting on his brother’s shoulder. He wiped at his eyes to clear his vision so that he could assure himself that Dad’s chest was still rising and falling like it should.

With a shaky inhale he leaned back against the counter and listened to the phone ring. It took extended coaxing from the voice on the other end of the line before he could gather enough air to speak.

“Bobby...something’s wrong with Dad.”

~~~

Sam sat on the bed in the cabin’s closet-sized bedroom while Bobby finished working a ritual in the main room. The smell of rosemary mingled with wood smoke and wafted in beneath the door. He clutched the bed’s moth-eaten sheets in one hand while the other picked at the edge of the bandaging on his arm.

Dean stood at the far side of the room, leaning back into the corner with his arms folded over his chest. A dark bruise swelled over his cheekbone. Still, when he looked up, Dean raised the corner of his lips into a smile that neither of them believed.

“He’s gonna be fine, Sammy.”

The statement hung in the air until Sam couldn’t take anymore of Dean staring. “What if he’s not?” Sam looked back down to the floorboards, kicking at the faded throw rug beside the bed. “What if when I hit him...?”

“If you hadn’t done it, I would’ve. You saved all our asses.” Dean walked over and shoved Sam’s hand away from the bandage. “Dude, for the last time - stop screwing with that thing.” A frown twisted Dean’s face as his eyes ran over the gauze. “How is the arm?”

“It’s just a cut.”

With a dismissive shrug, Sam gave one last kick to the rug before scooting up on the bed so that he could lean back against the wood paneled wall. He stared up at the cobwebs in the corner before looking back to his brother.

“Dean, how’d you know it was me?”

His brother rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Why does everyone think I can’t tell if a damn silver knife is working?”

“You knew before the silver...you believed me over Dad.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Dean waved him off. “But come on, he wasn’t exactly running on all cylinders and you were your annoying as hell usual self. I don’t know a lot, but I know my own pain in the ass little brother.”

With an evil smirk Dean ruffled his hand through Sam’s hair. Sam almost laughed, hiding a smile as he slapped at Dean’s hand.

“Knock it off, jerk.”

Both of them froze when the door creaked open. Dean stepped closer to him, standing between Sam and the doorway. Dad appeared from behind the door and Dean’s shoulders went rigid. Sam’s own heart pattered nervously in his chest, but the man who stood in the doorway wasn’t the same one from this morning.

Dad looked like hell. Physically he was more wrung out than Sam had remembered seeing him for years. What struck him most was Dad’s eyes. They were tired and sad, filled with regret and nothing that even bordered on the anger that Sam so wholly associated with them.

“Dad?” Dean asked. “You okay?”

“Yeah...I’ll be alright, Dean.” It hardly sounded as if Dad believed his own words. “But I need to talk to your brother.”

Dean didn’t budge, didn’t even look like he was thinking about it, but for once in a long time, Sam felt okay about being alone with Dad. He set a hand on Dean’s shoulder and his brother searched his eyes before nodding and looking back to Dad.

“Yes, sir.”

With his head lowered, Dean made a beeline for the door. When Dad grimaced, Sam realized why Dean was hiding his face. The sadness from Dad's eyes, seeped into his voice.

“Dean.”

Reluctantly Dean halted just inside the doorway. He looked like he was fighting not to pull away as Dad’s hand reached out to raise his chin and fully expose the bruising Dad’s own fist had put there. Dad shook his head as he released Dean.

“You did good. You did real good, son.”

“Um...yes, sir.” Dean pushed back his shoulders as if an immense weight had just been lifted from them. “Thanks, dad.”

It was only then that Sam saw that Bobby had been standing just around the corner in the hallway. The older man's arm reached out to wrap around Dean as soon as he stepped out of the room.

“How about you and I grab a drink, kid?” Bobby said as he led Dean down the hallway.

Sam remained sitting on the bed, listening to the fall of his brother’s boots grow quieter. Part of him screamed to run, but the bigger part of him knew that his legs wouldn’t support him if he just tried to stand.

“Sam...”

“You don’t have to say anything, Dad.”

He wished Dad wouldn’t speak, that they could just leave it as it was, glad that each other was alive without screwing it up with words. Every time they talked, it mutated into something else. Sam was tired of every breath hurting. He was tired of hating his own family.

Dad stepped closer, but still kept his distance. His hand scratched over the thick stubble at his cheeks. Sam’s eyes drifted to the darkening sky out the small window, by the time he looked back, Dad’s eyes too were locked on the silhouette of trees.

“Yeah, Sammy, I do.”

It took biting the inside of his cheek for Sam to not correct the name. Dean was the only one that he let call him that anymore. Usually. He sighed, scooting back to perch on the end of the bed.

“So uh...what do you remember?”

“Everything.” Dad pursed his lips and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I wasn’t possessed. Singer thinks some wires just got crossed in my head when that ghoul knocked me into the tombstone last week.”

“So it really was you?” Sam had spoken the words with a neutral tone and nearly to himself, but by the face that Dad made, Sam might as well been twisting a knife in his gut. “I just mean...”

“Don’t. I’m not here to make excuses and God knows I’m not here to fight. I just need you to know why. I need you to know...I was just terrified of losing you.”

“What?” Sam quirked his brow skeptically. “You tried to kill me because you were worried about me?”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you. All I could picture in my head was you trapped somewhere...or worse. I didn’t see you. I saw the thing that I thought had taken you - the thing that had hurt my baby boy.”

It was too much for Sam to process so he latched onto the only thing that he had an automatic response to. “I’m not a baby anymore, Dad.”

“You’re right, Sam. I don’t know when it happened, but sometime when I wasn’t looking, you boys grew into a couple of damn fine young men.” A sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “It still doesn’t mean you won’t always be my baby boy. There are a lot of things you and I need to work out, but that one’s not open to negotiation.”

Sam chuckled softly and pushed his bangs aside. “Yes, sir.”

At first he was startled when Dad stepped forward to draw him into his arms. It was really more of Dean’s thing, but it was hard to complain when the apprehension dissolved from his body and he found himself melting into the embrace.

He was going to make a life of his own, away from all this, but as he clutched his father closer, he knew he wasn’t running from his family. They were the ones that, no matter how bad it got, would always be there for him to fall back on.


End file.
